


If I Didn't Know Better

by guybriefly



Category: Crash Bandicoot (Video Games)
Genre: Awkward Crush, Fluff, M/M, Playful Bullying, Time bomb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 01:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11659053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guybriefly/pseuds/guybriefly
Summary: Even Tropy can see how badly Cortex treats poor Gin sometimes. During a stern talking-to about how N. Ginshouldbe treated, both men are led to a stunning realisation, and both men are equally shocked, but at least Cortex sees the humour in the predicament.





	If I Didn't Know Better

**Author's Note:**

> More content for you guys, I've just been itching to stretch my writing muscles lately. Remember that author on here who said 'I will fill this ship tag single-handedly if I have to'? Yeah.   
> Anyway, this was supposed to be angst, but I kind of dissolved halfway through the first page. Listen, I'm a tragedian (have you READ my webcomic?), but when it comes to ships, I can't write angst. I just want them to be happy and kissy and in love. I'm so sorry.  
> Anyway, enjoy!

‘You’re too hard on him.’

Cortex almost spits out his tea at the accusation. He splutters helplessly, which soon turns into hysterical laughter, and he only stops when he sees N. Tropy’s sharp brows twist into a scowl. Laughter trickling away into nervous chuckling, Cortex turns quiet, trying to let the comment pass, as if ignoring it will make it go away.

Tropy isn’t having it. He jabs Cortex hard with a sharp elbow. ‘Don’t ignore me, you little green gremlin. You treat him like a bad smell.’ He shifts in his seat. ‘Poor fellow…’

Sneering awkwardly, Cortex moves away from the desk, hopping down from his seat and leaving his work behind to turn his back on Tropy, avoid his piercing gaze. He picks up a clipboard and pretends to study it.

‘Ah, well, you know,’ he says liltingly, anxious, ‘He doesn’t take it to heart, I’m sure. I value his work.’ His voice lowers. ‘Sometimes.’

Loosening his brow but still visibly miffed, Tropy sighs. ‘I don’t know. It’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever heard you… _praise_ him.’

‘I never praised Brio.’

‘Yes, and he _left_ you.’

Wincing, Cortex turns back to face him. ‘You know, if you’re just going to criticize how I treat my underlings, you can leave, too.’ Turning away again, he can’t help but add, ‘I don’t even treat him _that_ badly- I mean, it’s not like I _hit_ him or anything.’

Tropy’s nostril curls in a snort. ‘That’s only because you’re scared he’ll blow up, you snivelling newt. You know he’s delicate. You don’t have to raise your voice at him, and you _certainly_ don’t need to pour your scalding tea into his lap if he put two sugars into it instead of three.’

‘Oh, that was _once.’_ Cortex stops. ‘Twice. I- look, why are you _defending_ him?’

Slightly taken aback, Tropy places a hand on his chest, feeling the steady whir of the clock. ‘I’m not defending him, I’m chastising you. It’s high time you started showing a little appreciation for his work.’

‘Why don’t you?’

‘He’s not working for _me.’_

‘But _you’re_ the one who has all this praise to give him.’ Cortex snorts condescendingly, cocking a bushy eyebrow. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re in love with him!’

Again, he laughs at the absurdity of the idea, massaging his forehead with one gloved hand, but stops when he looks up to see a strange look on N. Tropy’s face. Not a look of disdain or a sneer of exasperation, but a momentary look of confusion, shock, which melts into an almost worried expression, a crooked frown on his cold blue face.

It takes Cortex a while to react. It’s a lot to take in. He never considered N. Tropy as having… _emotion._ More like a scowling ice sculpture, or an angry marble pillar, or a disapproving gargoyle. But this just- it- it _tickles_ him in ways he couldn’t imagine, it’s _priceless,_ like someone tying a pink bow on a Rottweiler. Tropy’s expression _makes_ it – the second Cortex bursts into his third and _hardest_ fit of laughter, a pinkish blush floods the taller man’s face and his mouth twists as sweat begins to bead on his skin.

‘Oh, shut up, you- ridiculous yellow hooligan!’ He sharply turns away with a huff. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’

But Cortex isn’t listening. He slaps a hand to his forehead. ‘I’m sorry, this is too much. _Mr and Mr Gin!_ Or- or would he take _your_ last name?’ A fit overcomes him again, and his deep laughter starts to raise in pitch as the giggles take him. ‘I don’t know what’s funnier. The fact that it’s _you_ or the fact that it’s _him.’_

‘It’s not _funny_.’

‘Oh, so you’re not denying it anymore? N. Tropy, you _are_ a riot.’ He wipes a tear away. ‘What is it you like about him? His eyes? Hm? His _charming smile?’_ He sticks out his lower jaw for emphasis, before collapsing again, completely overwhelmed by the laughter until he’s almost on the floor, wheezing. ‘You’re in _love_ with him _!’_ A breathless peal of gleeful cackles is interrupted by a wheezing cough. ‘Stop, it’s torture!’

‘You’re only making a fool of yourself,’ Tropy tries to mutter, but his voice breaks. He’s still coming to terms with it, he doesn’t need _this._ ‘Stop this mockery at once.’

Cortex manages to compose himself, only to draw a clock on his clipboard and hold it to his chest, adopting a pitiable impression of Dr. Tropy himself. It’s not often he gets to make fun of Mr. Tall, Blue and Pompous, so he’s milking the opportunity for all it’s worth. _‘Ooh, N. Gin, your jutting teeth simply take my breath away!’_

Gritting his teeth, N. Tropy grips his tuning fork. ‘Stop.’

The impersonation doesn’t stop. Cortex marches around the room like a clockwork soldier.  ‘ _Ooh, Dr. Gin, your missile is so shiny! Let me take you on a romantic romp through time so I can kissy-kiss your metal face in the most_ splendid _parts of history!’_

Blood has rushed to Tropy’s face, and his skin has warmed to a point that could almost be called human. He gets up from his seat. ‘If you don’t shut up, I’ll bash you into next Tuesday, and you _know_ I mean that _literally,_ you little _oaf!’_

Cortex can’t hear him shout over the wet, soppy kissing noises he’s making. He throws himself melodramatically against a wall, pressing one hand to his high forehead. ‘ _Oooh, N. Gin, N. Gin! Caress my clock face with your cyborg lips!’_

‘I’ll rip your eyebrows off!’

‘Oh, _N. Gin!’_

The door is thrown open with a bang.

‘Yes, Doctor Cortex, I’m here, I’m here!’ N. Gin is panting heavily. Sweat pastes his ginger hair to his forehead.  ‘I heard you, I heard you calling, I’m sorry, those stairs are-’

He’s stopped in his tracks when he looks up to see Cortex, clutching a clipboard with a clock scribbled on it, pinned to the wall by the prongs of a tuning fork, clutched by a very red-faced N. Tropy. Cortex waves, somewhat nervously, while Tropy looks at him once before looking away, gulping and frowning. After chewing over the scenario, he draws a whistling breath through his mouth, chuckling anxiously.

‘Is this a… bad time?’

‘Yes,’ says N. Tropy, before Cortex can say anything. ‘Doctor Cortex was being _silly_ and didn’t mean to call you.’

‘Good time on the stairs, though, that’s what I like to see, keep that up.’ Cortex smiles, too wide, still pinned by the neck by the dangerously large fork. He offers a shaky thumbs up.

It takes a moment for N. Gin to process the compliment and it flusters him a little, causing him to stammer when he finally speaks. ‘Th- I- _thank_ you, Doctor Cortex, I… I’ll go now, should I?

‘Please,’ says Cortex, as Tropy nods, ‘And- and close the door on your way out. Thank you.’

Thrown off again by the unnatural gratitude of his superior, Gin leaves in a hurry, and Cortex shakes his head, rubbing his neck as Tropy pulls away the tuning fork.

‘That’s why I don’t praise him. For all we know, he’ll go back to his pathetic quarters and gush about it in his diary.’

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Tropy doesn’t reply, folding his arms. There’s a long silence, and it unsettles him, because from the corner of his eye he can see Cortex bite his lip to stifle a snicker, and the silence says he’s internally battling the urge to say something _extremely stupid._ N. Tropy decides to help him decide.

‘If you say another word, I’ll shove my tuning fork up your ass.’

Cortex considers. There’s another silence before he finally says, under his breath, ‘I bet you hate to see him go, but you love to watch him leave.’

‘Oh my god.’ N. Tropy doesn’t follow him up on his threat. ‘You’re insufferable.’

He goes back to his desk, and Cortex’s smug smile fades as he silently watches him work, pistons pumping. A few minutes trickle by before Cortex succumbs to curiosity, sidling up to N. Tropy and hopping onto a chair next to him, leaning an elbow on the desk.

‘Listen, N. Tropy, I’m honestly curious.’ There’s a sincere, more earnest tone to his voice, but Tropy doesn’t trust him, watching him warily from his peripheral vision. ‘What is it you like about N. Gin?’

Contemplating the question, and whether answering would send the obnoxious man into another giggling fit, Tropy replies, ‘He has a brilliant mind.’

Cortex pauses, obviously expecting more. ‘And?’

‘Don’t be greedy. If I tell you _more,_ you’ll set yourself off with your childish tittering again. I won’t carry you back to your room if you pass out.’ But he can’t resist, it bubbles up within him and he’s forced to add, ‘And he’s cute when he’s excited. There, I said it. Are you happy, now?’

‘I’m- sorry, did you say, _he’s cute when he’s excited?’_

Tropy turns red again, stammering, offended. ‘His eyes light up and he gets- animated, and-’

‘And he does that little nasal laugh?’

‘God, don’t encourage me.’ He rests his head in his hands, his towering headpiece suddenly too heavy. ‘I feel like I’m dying.’

‘Yes, that’s normal.’ Cortex inhales deeply. ‘Who knows, you might feel different in the morning. Or you could write him a soppy love letter.’ He pulls out his clipboard again, noisily clicking his pen. ‘Here, let me start you off. _Dear N. Gin, I ache to feel your-’_

Tropy slaps the pen from his hand. ‘That’s quite enough of _that,_ thank you-!’

‘Okay. Okay. Oh, mercy, I haven’t laughed like that in a _long_ time.’

‘Yes, I could tell,’ sneers Tropy, ‘It’s most likely more exercise than you’ve had in a month. You looked like you were about to pull a muscle.’

‘Oh, you know it’s all in good fun.’

‘Yes, you’re in dire need of a little _fun,_ with the life you lead _.’_

‘Alright, now you’re back to _chastising_ me again, you can get out. My evening can do without your criticisms.’ He waves a dismissing hand in Tropy’s direction. ‘I have a date with a nice, big glass of wine.’

Scoffing, Tropy gets up from his seat, rolling up his blueprints and sketches, tucking them under his arm. ‘You’re a sorry man, that’s the only _date_ you can _get_.’

‘Maybe we’ll have a double date with you and N. Gin.’ Cortex gets one final, quiet laugh from this, before Tropy departs, leaving him to his evening plans.

As N. Tropy marches down the dim corridors, he briefly passes by N. Gin’s room and double takes at his door, pausing to stand in front of it. There’s something illicit about being so close, separated from him only by this sheet of wood, it’s like being on the doorstep of a haunted house, a tingling rush goes through him.

_He really does have a brilliant mind. What kind of man does it take to turn a rocket in the head to a functioning life support?_

Tropy straightens his collar. He can’t be getting mushy now. This is just… unprofessional.

But he can hear movement behind the door.

Is N. Gin… talking to himself?

He can’t make out words but the sound itself, the sprays of wheezing laughter, the dancing rhythm and wheedling, cringing tone…

He has to pull himself away before someone sees him. That’d be embarrassing. Like a grown man being caught staring into the window of a toy shop.

Maybe Cortex is right. Maybe he’ll feel different in the morning.

But maybe he won’t.

He’s unsure of why, but part of him hopes he won’t.


End file.
